Gone Fishin’

22 08 2009

From the grazing fields of summer camp, I really should be plucked and put out to pasture.

I’m almost 22, and one of these days I’ll have to face the real world with its summers void of docks on still lakes, sweaty mess hall meals, and cheering children. But not quite yet. After my graduation, I procrastinated organizing my future for just a wee little bit longer by escaping to work at a sleep-away camp nestled in Mount Tremblant — an 8 hour trek from home and a world away from all my cares.

So, loyal readers, that’s where I have disappeared to for these summer months. And now… I’m back (insert long, heavy, slightly bitter “Sigh” here). 

And I’m 10 pounds heavier (insert longer, heavier, extremely bitter “Sigh” here). 

I know that Australia overtook the States as the globe’s fattest nation a couple years ago, but I would contest that summer camps should be thrown into that race.

I do believe a camp’s is the only dining room where you’ll find weekly lunch menus consisting of:

Monday -pizza

Tuesday – pizza bagels

Wednesday -pizza pasta

Thursday – pizza tacos (ok…maybe that’s a stretch) 

At one point it felt like I was handcuffed to a low-end children’s menu… and I didn’t even get the crayons!

While I always appreciated the time and effort invested in preparing such… ummm…  ‘childhood delicacies’, my pizza regimen left me desperately craving my favourite summer main — fish. Just when I thought the succulent meat of a scaly sea creature would have to wait weeks to meet my lips, a wonderful could-only-happen-on-a-magical-July-day thing happened!

As I lay out on the docks increasing my Vitamin D intake, my co-staff (and co-foodie) started screaming with excitement and waving something attached to a stick.

A fish! A fish! A not-pizza FISH!

Fresh from the lake, we knew it deserved a camp-style treatment. So under a blanket of stars we cooked our catch in a could-only-happen-on-a-magical-July-night way: grilled over a roaring camp fire.

A drizzle of oil, a dusting of salt and pepper and a splash of lemon juice later… and we were in heaven!

Our campers thought we were nuts (and so did some of our co-staff), but for just one late night bite, we embraced our mature palates and briefly returned to the real world — or at least its menu options!

I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side of the grazing field’s fence!




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